


A Strange-ly Seasonal Seduction

by Meilan_Firaga



Series: 25 Days of Christmas Fics - 2016 [3]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Companionable Snark, F/M, Flirting, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8736655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: Christmas in New York is magical, so of course it affects those with magic. Doctor Stephen Strange is struggling with the prospect of being alone at the holidays when an unexpected courier quite literally drops an invitation in his lap.





	1. A Holiday Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3 of my 2016 attempt at 25 Days of Christmas Fics.
> 
> Prompt 3: Snowfall

Heavy flakes drifted lazily down from the dark clouds covering New York City. From the large, round window near the roof of the Sanctum, Stephen Strange watched their progress as they moved to blanket the city. Spending the holidays alone was something that he’d grown used to, but he wasn’t particularly looking forward to it, especially given the whole ‘weight of the world’ thing he’d found himself in the middle of. It didn’t help that Wong wasn’t the least bit interested in sharing in his favored holiday pastime of horror movies and Chinese food on Christmas Eve.

Just as true melancholy began to set in, Stephen found himself startled by the ringing of a doorbell. He hadn’t even been aware that the Sanctum _had_ a doorbell. Keeping to the shadows, he moved out onto the landing above the entryway to watch as one of the other sorcerers opened the door. A young woman stood on the other side of the opening. Chocolate colored hair fell in loose waves beneath a fuzzy red beanie that matched the cat-eye glasses perched on her nose. She wore a heavy, fur-lined denim jacket over a thick woolen sweater that seemed completely at odds with the short skirt and thin printed leggings covering her legs. The whole outfit was polished off with a pair of worn combat boots bearing bright pink laces. She gave the sorcerer in the doorway a bright smile.

“Hey, dude,” she chirped. “Digging the outfit. I’m looking for a--” she paused to tug off one mismatched mitten and check something written on the palm of her hand, “--Doctor Stephen Strange. Please tell me he’s got a personality to do that name justice, because I did not come all the way to Greenwich Village just to be disappointed.”

The sorcerer, to his credit, didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Stephen could almost feel the amusement rolling off the man. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to receive you,” he told the young woman, gesturing for her to come in from the cold. He threw a glance up to the landing with a look that said _‘this is completely revenge for the floating food dishes at dinner last week’_ and closed the door behind her as she waltzed right in without a second thought.

“Thanks, man,” the girl said with another smile. She turned in a slow circle as she unwound her scarf from around her neck, giving a low whistle as she took in the visible parts of the Sanctum. “Wow,” she began, nodding in approval. “It’s a little more Arashikage than Harry Potter, but I can get behind the idea of wizards living like this in the big city.”

For as long as he might live, Stephen was certain that he would never forget the look of shock on the other sorcerer’s face. ‘Priceless’ didn’t even begin to cover it. The girl stuck out her hand, twirling the scarf like a string of pearls in the other.

“Darcy Lewis.” She introduced herself with the kind of wolfish grin that said she knew exactly what kind of shock she’d just delivered. “Scientist wrangler, professional intern, and shield sister to Thor.” Stephen’s stomach churned. _The_ Thor? Surely she meant someone else. “I tased him twice when he first landed in New Mexico, but it was my boss that hit him with her van. Apparently he’s into that sort of thing, because they’re totally doing the do as often as they can.” No, she meant _the Thor._

Striding from the shadows, Stephen gripped the railing of the landing and cleared his throat. “I’m Doctor Strange,” he admitted, feeling an entirely different kind of twist in his gut when her bright green eyes locked onto his. “Why don’t we have a cup of tea, and you can tell me what Thor wants from me.”

She was halfway up the stairs before he’d finished speaking, and he walked quickly to meet her at the top of them. He was surprised to find that she was incredibly tiny, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. Darcy tilted her head back to smirk at him all the same. “I’m sure you make a great cup of tea, but maybe we could find something a tad bit stronger.” She gave him a long, scrutinizing gaze that started at his head and trailed all the way to his feet before following the same path back up to his face. By the time her eyes were on his again--an even more brilliant shade of emerald up close--he could feel the back of his neck heating up. “And I might be Thor’s friend, but I’m totally not here because of him. He’s off eating his way through my entire cupboard of pop tarts while he waits for his lady love to finish science-ing for the day.”

“That sounds like it could be a fascinating story.” Thankful for an excuse to tear his eyes from hers, Stephen led her up another short flight of stairs and down a hallway to a quiet parlor. Beside him, Darcy shrugged.

“Not really. You were a neurosurgeon, so I’m sure you know exactly what the stuck in their work and forget to sleep types are like.”

He didn’t have to look at her to feel the pointed look she was giving him. Now that he thought about it, he might have skipped lunch in favor of brooding. He settled her into a comfortable chair and set about making the drinks he promised at the sidebar against one wall. Taking a shot in the dark, he conjured a pot of hot chocolate, pouring liberal doses of Irish whiskey in each of their cups. The smile Darcy gave him when he handed her a mug and settled into the chair opposite her proved it was a good risk to take. “If you’re not here because of Thor, why are you here?” he asked, giving her a level stare as he took a sip from his mug.

“Making the superhero rounds,” she explained, pausing to take a drink from her own mug. The steam from the cup fogged the lenses of her glasses, but he could still see her eyes flutter shut. A low groan emitted from her throat, and Stephen bit back somewhere between three and seventeen inappropriate comments as to what it sounded like. “If you didn’t have the whole sorcerer gig going you could make a killing selling this cocoa,” she told him after a long moment and an even longer second sip. “Seriously, best laced cocoa I’ve ever had, and I own a Cocoa Motion.”

“What on earth is a Cocoa Motion?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Darcy’s eyes widened, and she set her mug down on a side table. She took a deep breath, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her face set in an expression that spoke of a great passion for the knowledge she was about to share. Then she seemed to think better of it and shook her head to clear the thought. “Business first, explanation of the greatest kitchen appliance ever invented later.” Shoving a hand into one pocket of her jacket, she drew out a thick white envelope. She held it out to him with an air of gravity, fixing him with a very serious gaze. “Yer a wizard, Stephen,” she deadpanned.

“Did I wander onto the set of a movie that happens to look like my home?” he demanded, trying his best not to let her see how amused he was to be suddenly immersed in pop culture again.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” Dropping the letter in his lap, she leaned back and retrieved her cocoa again. “Tony’s throwing this holiday shindig at the Tower for all the save-the-world types that have come out of the woodwork. I’m here to deliver your invitation and pester you into saying yes to it.”

“Is being pestered by you supposed to be some sort of threat?” he asked, stowing the envelope in the folds of his cloak and leaning back in his own chair.

Darcy gave him a beaming smile. “I think it might be in Tony’s book. He does get awfully testy when I’m allowed to regulate the scientists and start bothering him in his lab.”

Stephen gave her a knowing nod, though he honestly had no idea what she was talking about. “What does this ‘shindig,’ as you called it, entail exactly?”

“Oh, the usual. Alcohol. Mingling. Getting to know the other super types in the area. With the Accords nightmare going on and a good number of the Avengers in hiding, Tony wants to make sure everyone that remains is on the same page.” Tugging her lip between her teeth, she gave him another serious look. “There’s no government interference at the Tower. This is just Tony Stark reaching out to the other heroes, not Big Brother trying to get a headcount. I don’t want anyone thinking that we’re trying to lure them into some sort of registration type trap. Besides, I think everybody that’s still around misses having a bigger team. They’re getting lonely.” She looked around the study as she talked, taking in the odd magical knick-knacks without so much as a raised eyebrow. “I gotta tell ya, this place is much better than the last few I’ve been to. Going to Hell’s Kitchen was no joke.”

“Tony Stark sent you to Hell’s Kitchen? Alone?” It took a few seconds of watching her amused face for Stephen to realize that he’d growled out the questions. The bottom edges of his cloak rustled with shared irritation. Apparently, it liked the idea of her alone in the Devil’s territory just as little as he did.

For her part, Darcy only snorted. “I dare a moron to try and screw with me. I wasn’t kidding when I said that I tased Thor, and Stark’s built me a better taser since then.”

Vaguely reassured, Stephen leaned back in his chair once more. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that particular story. I think it’s time you expanded on it a bit.”

He and Darcy chatted for a surprisingly long length of time. Sometime during the conversation he conjured a second--and then a third--pot of cocoa, opting to leave out the whiskey when he realized he’d felt like he was blushing for the better part of an hour. She told him Thor’s superhero origin from the perspective of a bored college intern and followed it up with the details of what actually happened during the London invasion. Darcy didn’t let him escape giving stories of his own, though. She asked questions about his training (“So, you basically went to Mahoutokoro.” “What?” “The Japanese magic school in Harry Potter.” “I thought that took place in England.” “You disappoint me so much.”), and then followed with even more questions about what the mystical trials and tribulations were like in comparison to the alien invasions and other disasters that the Avengers faced. He was both surprised by her genuine interest in his work and impressed with her ability to take everything he told her in stride.

“I’ve been surrounded by the unbelievable since my boss hit a guy that fell out of a rainbow portal with her van in the desert,” she explained when he asked why she wasn’t more skeptical of the things he told her. “With everything I’ve been through, it would be kinda stupid to write something off as being too farfetched just because words like ‘magic’ and ‘extra-dimensional beings’ were part of the tale.”

All too soon, an alarm went off on Darcy’s phone, startling both of them from their conversation. She checked the reminder and then grumbled to her feet, hastily explaining that she’s stayed much longer than she’d intended and left the scientists without supervision. “With Tony encouraging her, there’s a chance that Jane will either have accidentally insulted an alien race or blown a hole in the space-time continuum.” She paused, frowning. “That’s actually a thing, right? Not just words I learned from sci-fi movies?” Laughing, he assured her that the space-time continuum was, in fact, a ‘thing.’ He helped her into her coat--hastily tossed aside somewhere in the second pot of cocoa when they’d gotten into a heated debate about The Walking Dead--and escorted her back through the halls of the Sanctum.

Stephen paused at the door, placing a hand against its frame and tilting his head sideways to glance down at her. “Darcy, how do you feel about horror movies?”

“Well, that’s a loaded question,” she quipped, winding her scarf about her neck. “Which kind of horror movies? Are we talking the kind that want to ruin your ability to be home alone or the ones that are so implausible you spend the movie laughing at the screenwriters?”

“How about the kind that have a healthy mix of implausible deaths, violence, and humor?” he clarified.

“Ah,” Darcy said with a sagely nod. “Those happen to be my favorite kind of horror movies.”

He gave a nod of his own and pretended to be fascinated with the wood grain pattern on the back of the door. “And what are your feelings on Chinese food?”

She answered without hesitation. “It is the most superior of all forms of takeout with the exception of pizza. Kung pao is delicious, but nothing beats a good pepperoni thin crust.”

“I see.” He traced a line of the wood grain with his thumb, feigning a casual disinterest he definitely didn’t feel. “Do you have plans for Christmas Eve?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the faintest blush color Darcy’s cheeks. She glanced down at her feet for a brief instant before her usual bravado returned. “Unless trying to block out the sound of Thor banging my roommate counts as plans, then definitely no.”

Finally, he turned away from the door and looked down at her, a playful smile crossing his lips. “If I agree to go to this party of Stark’s, might I be able to talk you into spending Christmas Eve with me, some Chinese food, and a marathon of the best kind of horror movies?”

Darcy paused to consider the question, gently buffing her nails against the cuff of one jacket sleeve. “Possibly,” she said with a noncommittal smile. “Have you seen Krampus?”

“I haven’t. Care to see it with me?”

“I don’t know.” She tugged on her mittens and in a flash had slipped beneath his arm and out the door. She smiled up at him from the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps, falling snow catching in her dark hair. “I guess you’d better come to Tony’s party and convince me that it’d be worth pulling out my blu-ray.”


	2. A Holiday Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A year and a half isn't too long between updates, right? *oops*

With a mildly frustrated sigh, Darcy relocated another dress to a dark section of her closet she’d begun to call “Too Small, Don’t Even Think About It, This is What Happens When You Love Lattes Too Much.” Glancing down, she admitted to herself that it might only partly be the fault of the lattes. No matter how generous it was of Pepper and Natasha to gift her with their lightly worn designer fare, all the beautiful dresses in the world wouldn’t make the girls small enough to fit in them. That, at least, was a good problem to have. Lacking in dress choices for a fancy holiday party with a bunch of superheroes? Less so.

She turned to the other half of her closet and let her eyes fall on her party dress stand-bys. On the bright side, she’d never worn any of them to one of Tony’s parties (on account of either not being invited or Science! getting in the way) so it wasn’t likely that anyone was going to recognize one of those dresses. On the less bright side, she didn’t think any of them had the ‘wow factor’ to impress a certain sorcerer/former surgeon who might make an appearance to ask her over for Chinese food and a movie marathon--again--because she’d decided that telling him to ask her again at the party was coy and flirty and totally a better option than saying yes and climbing him like a tree in the entrance hall of his wizard crash pad. If he showed. It had been, like, twenty days since she’d dropped off his invitation. That was a lot of time to come to his senses and realize he wasn’t interested in watching horror flicks with the crazy intern. Especially since he didn’t have any way to contact her and, to her knowledge, hadn’t tried.

Before she could get too absorbed in her pity party, Jane kicked open her bedroom door. The astrophysicist was hidden behind a large stack of boxes. She stumbled forward, nearly tripping over a pile of laundry with a questionable level of cleanliness, and dumped the boxes on the bed. They bounced, and one toppled over the far side of the bed and out of sight. Jane pointed violently at Darcy, an annoyed mom expression planted firmly on her face. 

“You,” she insisted, “are not allowed on the internet when you’re drinking anymore.”

“What is all this?” Darcy asked, reaching for the nearest package and flipping it over. It was addressed to her. The return address label was a logo for something called Howling Pinups Clothing ( _ Dress like you’re going dancing with Cap and Bucky! _ ). 

“Remember that night you tried to drink all the schnapps in the apartment?”

“No. Does that mean I succeeded?”

“You went shopping.” Jane gestured over the boxes. “Apparently they let you pick your delivery date and you chose today on all of them. What happened that day that made you want to drink anyway?”

Darcy started to get an idea. “Was that the day I came back to the lab and found you and Tony hiding under a counter from the bilgesnipe and had to call Thor to take the damn thing back to Asgard?” Instead of answering, Jane began to scuff her feet back and forth, looking anywhere but at Darcy. “Right. So that was the day I left all of you alone for hours to go deliver invitations for the party tonight. Go me for having drunken forethought.” She steered Jane by the shoulders out of her room. “Shoo. Go do your own lady clothes thing and we’ll put our heads together on hair later.”

What followed was just like Christmas--which was awesome since actual Christmas was still a couple days away. The schnapps had the fantastic effect of erasing every memory she had of her shopping spree, so every box was a surprise. She had a feeling her credit card statement wasn’t going to be pretty, but that was a concern for future Darcy. Present Darcy had  _ options _ , and all of them were fitted perfectly. She found it in the next to last box, and knew before she even had it on that it was going to be the choice for the night. It was a busier print than she’d normally pick for a fancy party, but she’d gotten a good idea of Dr. Strangelove’s sense of humor, and the print was just clever enough to work. Plus, it was a holiday party. The dress was holiday themed. Totally viable.

When he showed up-- _ Why wouldn’t he? I’m awesome. _ \--he wasn’t going to know what had hit him.

~*~*~*~

Rather than following the instructions in the letter he’d been given--which included checking in on the first floor--Stephen opened a portal directly into the residential lobby on the sixty-second floor of Avengers Tower. While he knew that shock and awe wouldn’t be on the table given that some of the other guests could very well be Norse gods, he was at least hoping for a mildly impressed glance. What he got instead were two vaguely bored looks from a brunette in a little black dress and a redhead wearing an emerald green cocktail number. They were passing a flask of something between them as they leaned side by side on a large wooden desk liberally covered in Christmas decorations.

“Dammit,” the brunette groaned, pulling a fifty dollar bill from the front of her dress. “You win.” She passed the bill to the redhead, who tucked it into her own bosom. 

“I told you,” the redhead insisted. She looked horribly familiar. “A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.” 

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes briefly shut in frustration. On Darcy, he’d found the references cute. On strange women he’d not met? Less so. “Sorcerer, ladies,” he corrected them. “I’m a sorcerer. Not a wizard. I’ve never been to Hogwarts, I’m not going to put on my robe and wizard hat, and I don’t have a fondness for hobbits.”

The redhead quirked an eyebrow. “Well, you’ve got a fondness for at least one hobbit if you’ve turned up here.” She smirked, and his brain belatedly connected her with her name: Natasha Romanov. Spiders of concern began to crawl up his spine as his brain threw back all the files on her that he’d read after she’d dumped them on the web.

“Speaking of hobbits, Darcy is already at the party.” The brunette gave him a very pointed look. Stephen had the sudden feeling that he was surrounded by sharks. He briefly contemplated whether or not he could open another portal and escape to Darcy’s side in the middle of the party before one of them managed to subdue him.

“Oh, god, they got to you first,” a voice exclaimed off to Stephen’s left. He turned to find Tony Stark striding through a garland covered archway toward him. The shorter man (much shorter, he hadn’t anticipated that) was wearing what may have been the gaudiest suit that Stephen had ever seen. Nearly everything he wore was a bright, cherry red. The smoking jacket had lapels that were covered with short white fur, a thin line of fur trim on each of the pockets, and large, glossy black buttons. A white silk shirt was buttoned all the way up with a slender black tie through the collar. Slightly askew on top of Stark’s head was a fez styled to look like a Santa hat. “I swear, I would have tried to keep the harpies at bay if they weren’t both so terrifying,” he insisted mildly.

Glancing sideways over his cloak’s pronounced collar, Stephen gave the two women an assessing glance. “Too pretty to be harpies, I think,” he said after a beat, offering them as much of a friendly smile as he could manage.

“Charming,” the brunette deadpanned, one eyebrow quirked.

“Save it for Darcy,” the Black Widow added, taking another long pull from the flask.

Beside him, Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose. “They’re harpies because they get their kicks from torture,” he mumbled in a low voice. “Stephen Strange, meet the most dangerous women working with the Avengers. In the green is Miss Natasha Romanov. In the lovely black number is former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Maria Hill. They’ve been drinking vodka and conspiring together since noon. Let’s leave them to it.” Nudging the sorcerer with an elbow, Tony turned and led him through the arch and away from the two women.

“Magic won’t save you from a bullet to the temple if you hurt her, you know,” one of the women--Stephen wasn’t about to try and discern which--called conversationally as they retreated. A burst of feminine cackling followed a few seconds later.

“Do they usually greet party guests with casual threats?” he asked his host as Tony led him through a side door off the hallway and into a small study with a very well stocked bar.

“Nah,” Tony answered, sliding over to the bar and quickly divvying scotch across two glasses. “Lewis said something to one of them about you asking her out when she brought you the invitation so they’re sizing you up.” He handed one glass to Stephen, stepping back as he sipped from his own. “We’re all kind of attached to our professional intern.”

Stephen took a small sip from his glass and regarded the other man seriously. “Is this the part where you tell me about your shotgun and shovel?”

Tony barked out a laugh. “I’m more worried about you than Lewis,” he admitted, gesturing with his glass. “She keeps all of the Avengers in line. Do you really think she couldn’t hold her own if one sorcerer hurt her poor little feelings?”

“Is that why you sent her unguarded into Hell’s Kitchen?” He couldn’t help the bite that crept into his voice. He’d been tempted to contact Stark for Darcy’s number after she’d skipped off earlier in the month, but--aside from him respecting her enough to wait and ask her out again at the party like she’d asked--he’d been certain that he’d end up yelling at the other man for using her as a courier in dangerous territory, and then he’d not only not have gotten her number but would probably have had his party invitation revoked.

Instead of cowering or even looking the slightest bit sheepish, Tony snorted again. “Lewis is the only one that the Devil and that hell bitch Jones will even talk to. That aside, if someone tried hurting her in their territory they’d probably burn the city to the ground.” He paused, considering Stephen over rim of his glass. “I don’t suppose I’m hallucinating that cape billowing of its own accord when you’re standing still?”

“You’re not.”

“Any chance you’d let me take a look at it in a lab?”

“That would be the Cloak’s decision, but probably not.” The cloak rustled itself in agreement, shifting across his shoulders like a discontented housecat. To his credit, Stark only blinked at the relic’s impressive show of sentience before he shrugged and knocked back the rest of his drink.

“So,” the billionaire began, setting his glass aside and clapping his hands together, “are you properly lubricated with your first bit of liquor? Ready to face the rest of the bunch?”

Following suit, Stephen knocked back the rest of his own glass, briefly lamenting the quick death of the expensive scotch inside. He let Tony lead him back to the hall and through another decorated archway into a massive open party space. At least two dozen people were already mingling inside, the bright lights of New York City twinkling through massive floor to ceiling windows behind them. “The windows are Norse god proof and lined through with a series of imagers that keep everything inside from being visible outside,” Tony assured him before he could question them. “And, welcome to the party. I’m off.” He was gone before Stephen could thank him, leaving the sorcerer alone on the edge of a party full of people he’d never met. 

Then he saw her. She was flitting between two groups in a sunken area in the middle of the room, a glass of red wine attached to one hand. The cloud of chocolate hair that he’d last seen falling in waves beneath a beanie was neatly styled in a perfect combination of vintage victory rolls and loose curls. His eyes traveled from full, bright red lips past the patterned black swing dress with its sweetheart neckline and down to the heels that matched the lipstick shade exactly. Darcy was absolutely stunning. He wasn’t sure if she spotted him or if someone pointed him out, but suddenly she was striding across the room to his side.

“Hey there, Gandalf,” she quipped as she sauntered up the three short steps in front of him. Up close he could see that she’d swapped her red-framed glasses for a sleek black pair of cat-eyes with red crystals and gold studs at the corners. “I was starting to think you might stand me up.”

“And miss the chance to be threatened by the most lethal assassin Russia ever created?” he scoffed, thinking back to the calculating look in Romanov’s eyes when she’d looked him over. “Never.”

Darcy shrugged. “Second most lethal, but don’t you ever tell her I said that.” She took a sip of her wine and smirked at him over the rim of her glass. Her eyes travelled over him from head to toe in one long, slow sweep. “I wouldn’t have thought the Cloak would match a tux so well, and yet here we are.”

“I’m told it’s surprising, but I do know how to properly dress for an occasion.” With a hint of a smirk Stephen cast his eyes to one side and brushed an imaginary bit of lint from the Cloak’s shoulder. He rolled his shoulders back in a quick, sharp motion, dislodging the Cloak before addressing it directly. “Why don’t you float about and astound people for a while?” he suggested.

“I will never get over how cool that thing is,” Darcy admitted, reaching out to run an appreciative, friendly hand over the velvet fabric. The Cloak practically purred before darting off into the room, turning heads as it went. Turning her attention back to him, she gave Stephen a devious little smile. “Ready to party?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He offered her his elbow, gazing out over the crowds of people. His heart was doing a funny little dance in his chest as she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Did you wear that dress for me?”

She laughed, twisting her hips from side to side so the full skirt swished against both of their legs. “As a matter of fact, I did. Like it?”

Stephen favored her with a teasing smile of his own. He’d definitely noticed. “I’m of the opinion that you don’t see enough Krampus prints.” He nudged her with his hip, reveling in the feel of her pressed ever so briefly against his side. “It reminds me of a question I believe I promised to ask you.”

“Shhh,” Darcy insisted, pinching his forearm. There was a teasing glint in her eyes. “Can’t be throwing out the big fireworks so early in the night. What would we have to look forward to then?”

“Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Stephen tightened his arm just enough to draw her the slightest bit closer, gesturing to the bustling party with his other hand. “Shall we?”

~*~*~*~

They spoke to every person in the room before Darcy let him tug her into a quiet corner near one of the massive Christmas trees. They settled onto a plush sofa, laughing and talking over mugs of laced cocoa they’d acquired that she insisted weren’t nearly as good as what he’d conjured for her at the Sanctum. Stephen couldn’t help but be impressed by the people she’d introduced him to--though he would admit to a certain feeling of guilt when he realized that Colonel Rhodes was the man whose injury he’d written off as boring on the night of his own debilitating accident. He’d already resolved to tell her all about it at another time. He didn’t want to spoil the mood of the holiday by introducing her to his guilt complexes so soon. Instead he found himself heaving an immense sigh as he marveled over the furious ball of energy that was Peter Parker.

“He’s such a good kid,” Darcy insisted with a laugh. “Though, I definitely get where you’re coming from. That amount of enthusiasm is exhausting. You’re actually the only one here with a medical degree who hasn’t already offered to write him a ‘script for Adderall.”

Stephen laughed and shook his head. The thought had crossed his mind. “Surgeons aren’t usually the ones to write the prescriptions. I don’t think I’ve carried a pad since I was doing rotations in med school.”

“More’s the pity,” she giggled, nudging his knee with her own.

“I could just open a portal into the nearest stockpile and get him the Adderall directly,” he whispered conspiratorially, tapping a finger against his chin.

Her giggle turned into a full throated laugh. “Now we’re talking.” Stephen couldn’t help but stare as she brought her mug up to her lips for a sip. Her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol she’d been sipping, though her eyes were still clear and bright. A lock of hair had come loose from one of her carefully pinned victory rolls, and it fell in a delicate corkscrew against her neck. Before he could stop himself, Stephen reached out a trembling hand to tuck that corkscrew behind her ear. Darcy’s eyes found his, and she shifted her cocoa to the side table before turning to face him more fully. “Got something you wanted to ask me, Dresden?”

“I never did get around to reading those books.” He let his hand fall to her shoulder, his thumb tracing the line of her collarbone. “Will you join me for dinner and horror movies on Christmas Eve?”

“I think I’ve been pretty well convinced to do that,” Darcy admitted quietly. Her emerald eyes had fallen to his mouth, and Stephen watched as her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. “I think you said something about Chinese food?”

“I believe I did,” he confirmed. He was leaning forward, ready to close the distance between them, when a distinct rustle of fabric caught his attention. Stephen tilted his head back and snorted at the sight that met him. Catching Darcy’s eye, he jerked his chin upwards to direct her gaze. Above them, close to the high ceilings, the Cloak was hovering with a sprig of mistletoe. “I think we’re being set up.”

He felt her hands creep up the lapels of his jacket, her fingers brushing the back of his neck. “Dude, do you have any idea how unfair it is that you have a wingman for an accessory?” She didn’t let him answer before she’d tugged him down and pressed her lips to his. They were warm and soft as they moved against his mouth. His hands curled around her waist, fingers splaying over the crisp taffeta of her dress. Stephen thought he heard a wolf whistle somewhere off in the party, but it faded completely against the faint whine that drifted up from Darcy’s throat as her lips parted and their tongues met. She tasted like chocolate and bourbon, and Stephen felt his thoughts spin at the sensation. He pulled back with another gentle peck to her lips, bringing one hand up from her waist to brush along her cheek. Her eyes stayed closed for another long moment, and when she finally blinked them open he could have sworn that her gaze could melt him completely.

“I hope you’re not planning to do that and then duck out,” she practically growled at him. Her hands slipped back down from his neck, smoothing his lapels as she went, until they came to rest on his chest. He wondered briefly if she could feel his heart pounding beneath her palm.

“I would never,” he insisted, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before leaning back and favoring her with a smirk. “You might change your mind and leave me all alone on Christmas.”

The snort she gave wasn’t the least bit ladylike. “After a kiss like that you’ll be lucky if I don’t try to stay through to New Year’s.”

When they stood up from the sofa, she pinched his ass.


End file.
